


we're not there (yet)

by silhouette (thiefless)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Angst, Cheating, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Hurt No Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Pepper Potts Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26450494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiefless/pseuds/silhouette
Summary: “I'm married,” Mr. Stark said, just once: harsh and firm and begging to be torn apart, ripped to shreds.Or: Peter instigates an affair. (feat. Pepper's reaction, and a hopeful ending.)
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 52
Kudos: 208





	1. Peter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. So sorry if you feel like you've seen this fic twice before. I uploaded this fic late last night/early this morning, but then I had kind of a crisis of faith in this story, and I deleted it. But now it is here to stay. 
> 
> Title is taken from the infamous car scene in _Spider-Man: Homecoming_. Peter deserves all the hugs, but not in this fic, ladies and gentlemen. Oh, and Tony survived _Endgame_ because I've decided that the Iron Man suit doubles as indestructible plot armour.
> 
> This is tagged Pepper/Tony and their relationship will be expanded on in the second chapter. Having said that, this isn't a happy Pepper/Tony fic, and I wouldn't want to mislead anyone, so if that's what you're after then this isn't the fic for you. I have no wish to start drama, and I have no desire to do a disservice to Pepper/Tony shippers for views/hits/kudos or whatever.
> 
> With that in mind, I hope you enjoy the story! :)

“I'm married,” Mr. Stark said, just once: harsh and firm and begging to be torn apart, ripped to shreds. 

But Peter had spent the past five _dead_ , the previous five were spent unrequitedly in love with Tony Stark before the man was even a person to him. Peter didn't need love or marriage or big, grand promises – he just needed _him_. And he was way past aligning his moral compass to suit his actions. 

_With great power comes great–_

Blah, blah, blah. What a load of shit. 

“Just sex,” Peter proposed again, and again, and again, wearing the man down until all he could do was stand there and say, _I do._

* * *

Peter's first time hurt like a bitch. Not that he minded. He was used to pain – he'd been hurt all his life, why should sex be any different?

Mr. Stark took him from behind, still in that three-piece suit, forgoing lube at Peter's insistence – it was as he said: he was accustomed to pain; gentleness had no place among his body – pressing Peter face-first into the mattress at a five-star hotel, uncaring whether Peter suffocated, selfishly chasing the pleasure Peter's body wrought him. 

Kisses did not litter his skin – instead, the sharp press of Mr. Stark's teeth came down upon him, incisors leaving possessive marks down the column of his throat, in the space between shoulder and neck; unmistakable brands of ownership. 

Nothing made him come so fast as the bruising licks of pain Mr. Stark's hand dealt on his backside where it housed his cock. Mr. Stark's wedding ring hurt the soft flesh of his ass-cheek – a delicious burn Peter wanted to feel _again again again._

Mr. Stark complied – _again again again_ – and Peter's moans turned to whimpers turned to fractured pleas. From this moment onward, he only ever wanted Mr. Stark's hands to be the ones to bring him harm because they were so adept at putting him back together again. 

Because Peter _lived_ for the ache, and when Mr. Stark inevitably followed suit and soiled his ass, he felt as though he were floating on cloud nine. 

Afterward, Mr. Stark cleaned them both up best he could, and they spent the next three hours watching _The Return of the Jedi._ All in complete silence, both afraid to disrupt the tentative fragility of their liaison. 

Peter could tell Mr. Stark was apologetic, if only a little – the regret was a line buried in a sea of elegies – brown eyes downcast as they lingered on the fast-healing bruises. But Peter wasn't apologetic. If he could speak, he would want to reassure Mr. Stark, to ease the discomfort smarting his face, to smooth away the worry lines on his forehead. 

But that was the thing: Peter couldn't speak. So in silence, they remained.

* * *

Mr. Stark's left hand trembled. Whatever. It was a thing he had long before Spider-Man, and it remained a thing long _after_ Spider-Man. 

As such, Peter was never able to get a clear image of Mr. Stark's wedding. He knew it was gold – Mrs. Pepper Potts-Stark's was gold, too, a juicy red diamond crowning the middle – and he knew Mr. Stark fashioned it from leftover pieces of the shrapnel that gave birth to Iron Man. For a man who claimed aversion to sentiment, Mr. Stark was a very thoughtful man. 

Peter never bothered to pay the ring a second thought, he only cared about how it felt on his ass when Mr. Stark punished him with it. Let Mrs. Stark be the one to house his heart, Peter only craved a fraction of Mr. Stark's time and attention. Not affection, no. Peter would never be so presumptuous as to claim a piece of his childhood hero's devotion; never again. He'd learnt his lesson the first time round, he didn't need to be taught it again. 

Peter wanted to collect Mr. Stark's broken pieces the same way he wanted Mr. Stark to possess his, and they could fashion a jigsaw puzzle out of them, twisting them, bending them, until they fit.

* * *

Sometime after the Blip and the end of the Mad Titan, Mr. Stark renewed his vows to Pepper – to honour and cherish, swearing eternal love and fidelity. Peter was invited, May sitting next to him, entertaining the attention of Happy. After the pomp and ceremony, Mr. Stark shot Peter an inconspicuous look before exiting, leaving Peter to mumble out a hasty excuse to May and sneaking off to find him.

Mr. Stark was waiting for him in one of the rooms to the side. Outside, the party was in full swing, and Peter was only all too aware of the friends and family they had both left behind in their wake – Peter's aunt; Mr. Stark's daughter, his _wife_.

“Congratulations, sir.”

Mr. Stark let out a breathy sort of laugh. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't a laugh. Peter didn't know what it was, and he was not inclined to guess. “You little brat.”

Peter smiled, because that's what you do when someone labels you a _brat_ – you gift them an angel of a smile. 

At any rate, Mr. Stark liked his smile. He made short work of unbuckling his belt, letting it clatter to the floor, beckoning Peter over to him with a devilish smirk, brown eyes liquid fire. The prospect of tainting Iron Man not even five minutes after the man vowed to be faithful was absolutely intoxicating. Peter's brain turned to mush, and he licked his lips in preparation. 

Peter got down on his knees, and sucked Mr. Stark's cock so hard Pepper Potts-Stark wouldn't be enough to get it up again. 

* * *

Hey, Peter wasn't stupid. Irresponsible, yes; immature, yes – but never stupid. He knew exactly what this was: sex. Emptying rage and stress and years worth of guilt and regret into another person. Just body grinding on body, grunts hot and filthy, carbon dioxide poisoning the oxygen around them. 

Look: Peter wasn't proud. Neither was he remorseful. He just– _was_. 

You see, the thing was: Titan. Journeying to Titan, battling a Titan, dying on Titan.

Having sex with Mr. Stark was the first time he felt safe since Titan. 

Mr. Stark felt the same way. Oh, the man never said, but Peter was a master at analysing facial expressions, dissecting body language. Titan was the thing that bound them.

* * *

They didn't talk. They didn't need to. There were no pretences, no masks – every inch of the other person's soul was laid bare, just ripe for the taking. Home alone, Peter liked to pride himself on being the one person in the entire universe to whom loquacious Tony Stark was not compelled to silence with the sound of his voice. 

Here, they were just two people – just two disillusioned superheroes trying to get on with their lives before the next catastrophe wiped them out. 

Here, they weren't Iron Man and his pet spider. Here, they weren't Anthony Edward Stark and his annoying protégé. Hell, they weren't even really Tony and Peter. Names and titles were ineffectual in this liminal space they greedily carved out for themselves, uncaring as to the opinions of outsiders. No one could understand – Peter died and Tony brought him back. No matter how the press would spin it, that kind of shit _bonded_ people. Irreparably. 

Screw whatever punishment their reprehensible actions would discourage. People had judged for far less. This was important. Only _they_ were important. Nobody else mattered but them.

Peter didn't believe in love, and Mr. Stark– well, Peter couldn't speak for him. But Peter knew this wasn't what love was. Rather, it was something far greater than love, and he had no need for a silly little band on his finger to symbolise it. 

(He never spared more than a passing thought on Pepper. Truth be told: he didn’t have the stomach.)

Peter just needed Mr. Stark. And as long as Mr. Stark returned his desperation with equal vigour, then Peter was content.

* * *


	2. Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To summarise: Peter was the other woman; Pepper was _the_ woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. So, this was originally just going to be one chapter, but I was intrigued as to Pepper's possible reaction to the whole affair. Once again, cheating is an inexcusable thing in real life, and this isn't a fic with a happy ending for either relationship, really. 
> 
> In lieu of that, I hope you guys enjoy! :)
> 
> P.S. Pepper deserves all the hugs.

Honestly? Pepper knew. 

Of course, she fucking did. For years – _decades_ – she had been wiping Tony's ass and cleaning his snot. For years – _decades_ – she had his ear, his trust, as he gave her control of his father's company, as he gave her power over him. For years – _decades_ – she had been made to bear witness to his self-destructive tendencies.

Because that's all this was: a self-destructive tendency. 

Not– she just meant, it wasn't _love_. Tony didn't love Peter. At least: not like he loved Pepper. For all his faults, Tony wouldn't keep his dick warm in just anyone, not since Afghanistan. There was a certain... kinship between Peter and Tony, between Spider-Man and Iron Man. And it didn't include Pepper. It probably didn't even include Morgan. 

Look. Here was the thing: she wasn't enough to stop him. Iron Man was a silent fixture in their relationship, a constant weight on Tony's shoulders, a constant worry on hers. No matter how much she begged, pleaded, cried, Tony denied her request to stop his superhero antics. And so she – begrudgingly, she wanted it noted – learnt to accept it. Make peace with it. 

Until him: Peter Parker. 

God. You know, it's funny. Tony never once badgered for an open relationship, never once wandered his eye. He was utterly enthralled by her, beholden to her. Truth be told, he still was. 

There were just two parts of the man. One for her, the other for– _him_.

* * *

Tony always talked. He never stopped – from the very second he awoke, to the end of the day. Occasionally, she was also treated to a mumbled lecture on nanotechnology, the words mushed against her nape as he spooned her. 

(She had to force her brain to switch off when she heard him whisper, only the once: Peter. For weeks after, she swirled that wretched name around in her head, taking apart the syllables, dissecting the intonation, trying to contort _Peter_ into _Pepper_.

Spoiler alert: her efforts would always, always, _always_ be in vain.)

This was what she knew:

  1. She knew he loved her. 
  2. She knew he respected her – as his partner, as his wife, as the mother of his child.
  3. She knew he needed her.
  4. However, she knew she was ineffectual in helping him heal re: Titan.
  5. She knew Peter helped him heal. 



In addition to that: she knew when he sneaked off not even five minutes after renewing his vows. She knew, later, when he couldn't get it up for her, and she swallowed and turned a blind eye to the smatting of love bites adorning the inside of his thighs. 

Tony never offered an excuse, never gave an explanation. Maybe he knew it was a moot point; she always could read him like the back of her hand. She prided herself on being the only one in the world to manage such a task. 

(Since when had she been usurped? Since when had her power been challenged, without even a poxy word of warning?)

He never touched her anymore. Not intimately, not sexually. That wasn't a problem. She could forgo sex – she just needed her husband back. _Whatever it takes._

* * *

Fatherhood suited Tony. In spite of the awful nurturing he was subjected to as a child by Howard, he was a wonderful parent to Morgan. Pepper knew he liked to joke that their daughter preferred him, but in her eyes, it was the truth. Tony always knew how to pacify Morgan when she fell over, how to soothe her when the night terrors got to be too much, how to turn her sobs into giggles.

(Tony always was adept at that. He'd made Pepper laugh more times than she could count. On the flip side, he had made her cry more than any other person on the planet.)

Often, Pepper felt like an outlier in her own family home – the odd one out, as it were. Those moments made it difficult for her to breathe. She could turn to dust, just fade away into nothingness, and nobody would notice. Time travel would never be revolutionised in her honour, because her name didn't start with the right _P._

But then Morgan giggled at a funny face Tony pulled, and the child she and Tony made from scratch turned to look at Pepper, inviting her to bask in their joy, and the hurt temporarily abated.

“Mommy, look at Daddy!”

Pepper couldn't hide her smile even if she wanted to. “I see,” she said, side-eyeing her husband good-naturedly, vindictively rejoicing in the sheepish look in his eyes. “Is Daddy being stupid again?”

Laughing without a care in the world, Morgan's head bounced up and down, as though suspended on a yoyo. 

Tony clapped his hands together, seemingly desperate to change the topic. He knew how to read her, too, and that was a curse she would never be able to shake. “Who wants a juice pop?” He looked at her as he said it, deferring to Pepper's authority, knowing she was just as important as he was in _their_ family.

Morgan jumped up and down, yelling affirmations. Pepper wanted to take a snapshot of that moment, freeze it in time, hold it close to her heart for all eternity. 

Alas, time never worked in her favour. 

Later, Tony's arm wound around her stomach, tethering her to him. “I can't believe we made this,” he said quietly, awe lightening his tone, marvelling at the life they built. In that moment, she knew: this life was a priceless creation. “Our family.”

Possessively, Pepper traced the strong line of Tony’s arm all the way down, interlacing their fingers together at the seams. 

Because it was: _their family._

* * *

It helped, at night, to repeat the facts: Tony swore vows to Pepper; Tony only swore _at_ Peter, playful though the profanity may be; Stark was attached to her last name, Peter was stuck with the surname of deceased family members. 

(Shit. No, sorry. That last one was uncalled for. Pepper refused to compromise her morals, no matter the poison the snake in her chest hissed, coiling around her ribcage and constricting her heart.)

At the end of the day, Pepper called Tony by his name. Peter only ever referred to them – yes, Pepper also – by their married title. 

To summarise: Peter was the other woman; Pepper was _the_ woman.

* * *

The last thing she desired was to initiate a witch hunt against Peter. Regardless of the hurt he so carelessly provided her; malicious intent was never her style. As horrible as it sounded, she could maybe, almost, _sympathise_. Peter died in her husband's arms, and Tony challenged the very nature of time itself to bring him back to life. 

Poetic. Their story was poetic, a modern-day reenactment of _Romeo and Juliet_ penned specifically to torture her. The allure of the forbidden was a literary temptation that did not bode well for real life relationships. 

Pepper used to think _they_ were poetic – not an epic love song, but something close. It was a horrible feeling, to know everything you thought was wrong. 

Let's reiterate:

  1. Tony loved her.
  2. Mr. Stark was in love with him. 



Maybe you could love two people at one time. Pepper never pretended to be an expert on the matter. It could be possible. Who was she to say anything to the contrary?

* * *

Pepper wasn't oblivious. She saw the toll Titan had taken upon her husband's body; physical punishment lashes invisible to the naked eye. Titan was a dark cloud hovering over Tony – over time, she saw it recede, bit by bit, as he was lost in her company and later in Morgan's. But the pain festered in the brown of his irises, lingered in the black of his pupils. She feared she would never be able to erase it. 

Titan _broke_ him. When Captain Marvel brought him back from the presumed dead, he was a fraction of the enigmatic man he was when he took off on that godforsaken alien ship. Iron Man was a ghost sent to haunt him; his failures playing on repeat in his mind. 

(Like she said earlier: she knew Tony like she knew herself. There was nothing that man could hide. Not from her.) 

He withdrew from life. Oh, he was an attentive father once Morgan was born, but she could see the cracks in his façade, the chinks in his human flesh, the scars left behind. 

Post-Titan, Tony was just that: _Tony_. Gone was the man who lived for the ego, gone was the man who drank confidence with his morning coffee, gone was the man who invented miracles. 

And _now_ –

Tony’s anxiety lessened, his muscles loosening by the day. His smiles were offered freely, his quips were sharper, his breathing was deep and quiet. He no longer searched for monsters in the closet. Instead, he found shirts. 

Peter had given her the greatest gift: her husband. 

Sometimes, Pepper was overcome with such gratefulness she choked. Other times, she felt like screaming into the void; felt like tearing the strands of her hair out, letting her scalp bleed, crust over – a woman damaged.

She saw the effect Peter had on him. Saw it, and would one day _accept_ it.

* * *

When he crawled into bed stinking of Peter, she wondered whether Peter ever smelt her on Tony's skin. Considering his superior spider senses, she reckoned so. 

Triumphant, a smile formed on her lips, stretching the skin wide – far too wide for comfort.

“You okay?” her husband murmured, pulling her close, blissfully unaware as to the Parker cologne he was currently modelling. 

Pepper nodded, hand reaching up to trace the markings on his ring. She knew he never took it off – she didn't know _how_ she knew, she just did. 

“I'm perfect,” she whispered. Truthfully, in that ephemeral fragment of time she snatched like a wanton thief, she was. 

* * *


	3. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being with Peter was a necessity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I know this was originally going to be one chapter, then two, and now there are three, but this is definitely going to be the ending. 
> 
> I just want to thank you all for the beautiful comments. Every single one of you have made me smile so hard, you have no idea. I love you all so much. Even just those who have read my weird little story have made me so happy these past few days. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the final chapter. :)

_Repeat after me: this. doesn't. mean. anything._

* * *

Sometimes, when he tried really hard, Tony could delude himself into thinking that this was just sex; that the kid was nothing more than a human manifestation of a siren call – just the latest in a long line of trinkets and toys for him to play with when the self-deprecating ruminations grew to be too much. 

But only sometimes. 

Answer this: what do you do when the reality was too much to bear? How do you live with yourself when your true nature was raw, exposed, left to oxidise for other people's entertainment? What do you do when the one person who made the world bearable, who took away the aches and pains, who made your heart fucking _lurch_ wasn't the same person you sold your soul to? 

See? Duplicity can be preferable. 

_Sometimes_.

* * *

Before long a year had passed since the kid's initial proposition, snapping Tony's already compromised grasp on reality. 

Being with Peter was a necessity. Their language consisted of furious fucking – it was their primary method of communication. Grunting and grinding was their song, a melody he would never tire of. 

Peter was his Humpty Dumpty: the person he dismantled, tinkered with, put back together again. Tony unloaded all his brutality, pent-up rage and frustration because he knew the kid could handle it – knew the kid _wanted_ to handle it. In return, Tony wordlessly commandeered Peter's solitary ruminations, the sadness laced in every muscle of his stature, doing his best to erase every trace of guilt and self-loathing out of him. 

They understood each other on an unprecedented scale, the likes of which should have scared Tony, but– God, what could he say? It was _Peter_. 

This ferocious, co-dependent, chaotic mess grew unchecked between them, evolving every time Tony selfishly reaped the privilege of watching Peter come apart, selfishly priding himself in being the one the kid trusted enough to get to manhandle in such a vulnerable state. 

Sporadically, Tony would help himself to a small dose of vulnerability while safely ensconced in the warmth of Peter's body, feeling – for maybe the first time in his whole life – uniquely protected. 

Having said that, the kid wasn't Tony's family – and that was the heart of the matter. 

_(Tony Stark has a heart.)_

Peter was an affair...and that was all he could ever be.

* * *

“Can you repurpose this?” Pepper asked, twisting off her wedding ring. The click of her heels reverberated in the lab, echoing like a death knell. 

Fuck. Tony's brain crashed, blocked, unable to compute the implication behind her faux neutrality. 

Pepper stopped a respectable distance away – polite in the way one would be to a mere acquaintance or passing colleague; not one's own husband. 

“Tony,” were the next words out of her mouth, iron reinforcing her words. It was then that his eyes fell to the papers in her hand. “I want a divorce.”

He hated being handed things, but he trusted her with his eccentricity, and he automatically took the papers from her. Her ring, also.

Brain still refusing to cooperate, he sifted through the divorce papers, finding her pristine signature already printed on. 

His own was blank beside hers.

“It's the way you look at him...” Pepper smiled, a wistful form of pain. Tony didn't need her to clarify who the _him_ in question pertained to; secrets had never been their style. “You have never looked at me like that. And, truth be told, I've never looked at you like that.” Pep, wonderful woman that she was, did not cry, did not shed a tear. Tony did not earn the privilege of seeing her anguish. “I need to go and find someone to look at like that. I just–” she barked a watery laugh, and self-hate festered in Tony's lower abdomen. “I hate husband hunting.”

He forced a swallow that burned like ash down his throat. “I love you,” he rebuked faintly, eyes trained solely on the ring dancing in his fingers. 

“I know,” Pepper replied after a tense beat, the exhalation resounding like the aftermath of a nuclear bomb. Her voice was soft, strained, wrought in an acceptance she should never have had to fucking put up with. “But you're not in love with me.”

Tony's silence was a reply in and of itself. 

Refusing to let the tears fall – refusing to allow herself to be vulnerable towards him because he had let her down – she looked at her wedding ring. “I was thinking a necklace. You always did have a fine eye for those.”

* * *

Divorcing Pepper was heart-wrenching, even if it was a long time coming. Tony assumed full responsibility; he was entirely at fault. Pep should never have been saddled with his baggage. 

They sat down together and gently broke the news to Morgan: _no matter what, Mommy and Daddy will always love you, Maguna._

In the run up to the wedding of the century, before every single thing went to shit, she'd signed a prenuptial agreement. They didn't have a cheating clause – at the time, neither of them imagined would be an issue in their marriage. 

_My, how things change_. 

Tony point-blank denied his lawyers the opportunity to swindle this incredible woman more than she already had been. She'd suffered more than enough in his name. He gave her as much alimony as she deserved.

Because she _did._ Pepper Potts deserved every single penny. 

* * *

Therapy. Tony was in desperate, desperate need for some therapy. Supposedly, getting divorced by the greatest woman in the universe was conducive to finally getting your head out of your ass and working on your problems. 

Shockingly, Bruce got licensed as a bona fide therapist during the Blip, and Tony took advantage of his newfound profession, immediately scheduling an appointment not even five minutes after Pepper served him divorce papers. 

(He sure had some serious shit to figure out.)

The thing about Professor Hulk was – there was no danger of any actual, y'know, _Hulk_. The anger and rage and uncontrollable urge to mindlessly destroy no longer controlled Bruce's life, and Tony was pleased for his friend. Truly, he was. Bruce was one of the precious few who deserved every good thing in life. 

He only needed Bruce to remove the same monster clawing at Tony's throat. He needed to learn how to _talk_ again.

* * *

During the transition period, as Tony gave Pepper the lake house – it was Morgan's favourite place in the whole world, and neither of them fancied the idea of selling the family home – Peter was a constant. The thing he looked forward to seeing. 

Not that he was reducing Peter to a mere _thing_. People weren't objects. Tony knew that.

Anyway. For completely unrelated reasons, Tony bought a penthouse in Queens. Nothing unusual about that. It was– it was– it was– easy access. Yeah. That's what it was. Just a convenient place to fuck Peter; a familiar place, a safe place.

(Would that response hold up in court? Eh, probably not.)

Be that as it may, Peter responded pretty well to Tony's daily invitations. Well, he thought so. Honestly, trying to get the kid to open up required the same force as extracting blood from a goddamn stone. 

Wow. Tony really was a hypocrite, huh?

A few months after his divorce was finalised, and a few months since he started therapy, he worked up the nerve to switch things up with Peter. Oh, he screwed him just as viciously as he always had, pounding away at him like he was the only thing Tony could rely on to house his secrets, his truth. That wasn't what he was referring to. 

He was referring to what happened _after_. 

Namely: he gingerly, tenderly, gently – whatever fucking synonym you'd prefer – tilted the kid's chin up, and touched their lips together. 

He wondered if this was Peter's first kiss. God. All those times they fucked and never once had Peter been kissed – an utter travesty, one he aspired to rectify at every opportune moment. 

“Stay,” Tony said, ordered, begged – the noise coming out mangled and garbled as he forced his lips and teeth and tongue to form the monosyllable right against the mouth of Peter Parker. 

Drawing back, a frown was etched on the kid's face. Tony could understand. They never normally made time for talk after sex. This was unfamiliar territory; no man's land. 

Maybe Tony didn't have the right to ask this of Peter, not when his body still bore the emblem of the brutality in which Tony fucked him into the mattress. His eyes tracked the marks, the bruises. If he concentrated hard enough, he could see the moment the blue bled into green, bled into yellow. “ _Please_.”

Face blank, the seconds stretched on into timelessness. Eventually, Peter settled into Tony's side, and Tony awkwardly tucked him under his arm. 

They weren’t in the mysterious _there_ yet, but every story had a memorable beginning. Tony was prepared to wait however long it took because they–

Oh, they were a page-turner, alright.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this story! :)


End file.
